After the Tinos assault, doubts and theories loom dark over Damon and Roubani

Date:

PHD203 (7 November)

Related Logs:

Tinos Assault

Players:

....

Kharon - Gym

The gym has its noisy spots as usual, mostly concentrated by the sparring mats and weight machines. A spotting of soldiers are on the treadmills. Roubani is sitting on the bottom row of the bleacher benches near the mats and hanging bags, arms resting down on his knees and a bottle of water between his sneakered feet. Idle, but perhaps just on a break; his hairline is damp from sweat, as is the collar of his T-shirt.

Still sporting a nasty bruise on his stomach from the away mission, Damon's got few places to go on the ship so he returns to his port of call: The Gym. Dressed in his off-duties, he spies Roubani on the bleachers and makes his way over. Dropping slowly onto the planks not far from him, he turns his head to issue the pilot an upwards nod. "Poet, how you been?"

Roubani picks up his water bottle, in the middle of working his fingers under the pop-up thing on the cap. "Mr. Cavalera." Pop, and he shifts his elbows more comfortably on his knees. "I had heard Charon turned your ferryride around, months ago. You camoflage well up here."

"Yeah it was tense for a little while but they let me out. I'm not proud prison labor turned soldier for the Kharon." Damon replies, slipping a cigarette between his lips. "I like to think that with enough time I'll be allowed into the lounge or the game room, but go fig. I got your book, where you want me to return it to you?"

"You aren't missing terribly much," Roubani informs the Marines, after sucking down a good swallow of water. "Idleness and people playing games. One can get that anywhere." His thumb pops the cap back down. "My bunk if you're able, and thank you." He turns his head finally, looking at the man. "How did you find the story?"

"I'll bring it by tomorrow." Damon replies, bringing the flame to the cigarette. Sparking it to life, he gazes across the gym as they speak. "Back on Scorpia there was this priestess girl that lived in a cave after the bombs hit. Girl wore sandals, had a shield, just like right out of the story. I think I'd give most of this up to maybe go back to that."

"There are still plenty of windmills to tilt at," Roubani murmurs, tapping the water bottle against his knee. He's silent a little while. "When you were on Scorpia," he begins, eyes absently on two soldiers punching it out on a mat across the room, "Had you ever seen anything like last night? Humans kept alive for some…purpose by the cylons?"

"I was with the main group, up in the mountains. It's the same group that Salazar came from." Damon replies, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling as he shakes his head. "I've never seen anything like it, but if there's military staff in that crowd, just in case, I'd say that command should quarantine em."

"I would hope they won't just let anyone go running loose, military or not," Roubani says under his breath, pensively. "Did you see much, on the ground? Of those people, of what was really going on there?"

Damon nods, glancing to Roubani for a quick moment. Never one to make much eye contact despite an initial one, he turns his attention back to the gym. "When the assault happened they started opening fire on the captives." Damon replies, going quiet. "Between you and I, Poet, I don't see what labor they'd need from humans. It isn't making sense."

Roubani's eyes turn down as Damon speaks of the deaths of the cylon captives, whether out of respect or just thought. "I cannot quite piece it together, either. It bothered me before the assault and it bothers me now." He shakes his head slightly. "Did you see anyone actually in those mines themselves?"

"No, I wasn't that far ahead. I was on the northeast side, taking down the weapons towers." Damon says as he gazes forward. Quietly, as if discussing the weather, he brings his cigarette to his lips. "We're in a war, and I might not be the tactical genius around here but if it looks strange then it's got to be suspect. They're not attacking us outright, which to me says they're either busy elsewhere or they've got other plans."

"I don't believe for a moment that those other plans really included four hundred humans mining copper. If they were at all." Roubani says, likewise casually but very quietly. "There was a structure, I recall on the plans, that was unidentified."

"Yeah I saw that too." Damon replies, reaching to scratch the bridge of his nose. "They're machines that don't need food or rest, so prison labor with them makes no sense. Mines make no sense. Opening fire on them so that we could rescue them does." Damon conspires, bringing his cigarette to his lips again. "No doubt in my mind they got moles, Poet."

"You mean, like spy equipment?" Roubani asks without looking back at Damon. And with a tone that doesn't really mean what he's saying at all.

"No I mean like people that blow up parts of the ship and open fire in sickbay." Damon replies, looking casual as he speaks. Slyly, he's got his hand near his face with his cigarette in hand, an old jailyard lip-reading tactic.

Roubani taps the top of the bottle against his lips, his teeth pulling the pop cap back out. "Every war has its turncoats," he says, words slightly muffled around his open teeth. "But why. Why infiltrate when we are already militarily inferior."

"It's just a starting theory. Maybe it has something to do with whatever that building was." Damon shrugs, leaning against the bench behind him. "Either way I figure it's got to have some purpose or be some kind of ruse. We want to save human lives right? Frak…if I were a robot I'd use that."

"It's a sloppy ruse, if it was," Roubani shakes his head minutely, pushing the cap in and pulling it back out with his teeth. "At most they could have expected to take down some of our crew, but the Kharon or any other large vessel was never likely to get close." There's a while of pause then, trailing off into silence. "Unless there is something they wanted us to pick up."

"And if they have moles and if they were inserted into the civilians we picked up, then it all makes sense." Damon replies. "Look, when I was in the brig sickbay got shot up. Then CIC gets bombed, killing the man that signed the papers that kept my ass alive. I've had a long time to think about this shit."

"But how could they be sure which civilians we would pick up," Roubani murmurs. "If only to play devil's advocate to the theory. You said they shot into the crowd, which must have killed some random people, and we certainly didn't get them all."

"Well, just an idea but if they knew where the mole, if there is one, was standing in the crowd, they just don't shoot that part of the crowd." Damon replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Or who are we to say that they're not so good with those things that they can't single out targets to avoid."

"I will give you that," Roubani says, tipping the bottle up to sip from it finally. When it comes down, it doesn't move far from his mouth. "However, they still had no way of knowing which of those people we would be able to get and which ones we wouldn't."

"Like we'd leave someone behind." Damon replies, snorting out a small cloud of cigarette smoke. "We're humans, Poet, we're predictable and we've got emotions. If they didn't want us to hit the prison camp and had access to the mines, why didn't they hide the prisoners in the damned mines?"

"We did leave some behind. We got under a fourth of them, or so I understand," Roubani points out, glancing at Damon's profile. Another sip of water, a slight frown. "The whole thing is very off. Genius if it was indeed just a setup to load us with a mole, or worse. I wish we could have seen if that equipment was even being used by human hands…I suppose they will find out when they screen the ones brought up."

"Maybe I'm a fool for doing it but I've been thinking where the long game in this is." Damon admits, turning to look at Poet. "We're one ship, not a fleet, and they've tried disabling us right? So since I'm so quiet most of the time I start rolling it all through my head. What I've come up with is this…" He pauses. "Use our emotional need to keep the human race together as their design for killing us off."

"I wouldn't have pegged the cylons for mind games," Roubani says, snapping the cap shut and resting the bottle down on his knee. "Though I suppose when we pose very little real threat to them, they can take their time as they wish. I simply don't buy all of it…it isn't as though they lack the sheer firepower to simply put us down. Some of these engagements have been almost…" He trails off, searching for his own thoughts. "…almost as though they've let us go."

"Starting to make more sense isn't it?" Damon asks, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't know if Command is thinking any of this but I know my chances of survival are just a little higher if I try to keep my eyes open and see if something's coming down the line. Just thinking about this will keep my attention on the suspicious stuff."

"No, it doesn't make sense," Roubani shakes his head and makes a soft exhale that's not really a chuckle. "Don't destroy us the easy way, but use more complicated spies and games? I mean, obviously they are, but it's not logical."

"Then why not attack us directly?" Damon replies. "They don't attack us head on, they don't just eradicate us, and have any nukes ever been fired at the ship? You're right, it doesn't make sense, which is why the only thing that does make sense is that they got somethin else that they're up to."

Roubani nods. "I agree there, yes. We aren't fighting the war that we think we are." He frowns, his eyes tensing at the corners as he rolls things in his mind. "And while we are busy fighting the front we believe to be there, another one is open."

"Just keep your eyes open. You're not the only person I've told this to. Watch people, figure out when they're acting out of character. Watch for odd changes in their personality or doing something strange all of the sudden." Damon says quietly, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his boot. "I don't think we're done with the sabotage yet."

"That could describe just about anyone after a bad day," Roubani says, and his tone isn't really joking. "I wonder what they were offered. If some promise of survival or something so mundane would be enough to make someone do this."

"Imagine you get offered safety, a clean place to live by the ocean, repopulation, all at the expense of your conscience. Would you do it? Know anyone that might?" Damon asks, throwing out another theory. "People don't wanna die, most of all people want to keep their families safe. For whatever reason it might be, one thing is true…something's definitely not right about this."

"If indeed that is what they offered," Roubani says, sounding doubtful. "I hardly think that for some it would take even that much." He shakes his head, still frowning. Something seems to occur to him. A memory, maybe, or just…something that makes his eyes flicker, drawer deeper lines between his brows. "And do you know what I really wonder. If any were in place before the war even began."

"It's possible." Damon replies. "Again, I'm no military strategist but I did run my own empire down on Scorpia. All of the colonies bombed on one day? Total genocide? If I wanted it to happen that badly I'd have had a plan just in case any ships made it through." Damon shrugs, calmly talking about the grim subject. It doesn't seem to phase him much. "It's worth thinking about."

"Mm." Roubani's eyes stay on the sparring match ending across the room. "Have you been alright otherwise? Apart from the restricted movements and…all this."

"Decent. It's just a bigger cell." Damon smirks. "I work out, I go eat, I go to bed. I never really expected to have much of a life, you know. All I wanted was my name cleared."

"Mmhmm." Roubani makes the sound quietly. "It is a start. And not the end quite yet." He takes a last swig of his water. "I should go, I've got CAP soon. When you take that book back, go on and help yourself to any others I've got up there. They may be a bit dry, but we have what what we have."